Eames clicks his tongue slightly. "Counting cards," he says, quietly scolding. "You're sounding as bad as me, love." He reaches down to hold onto Arthur's hips and pull him up to grind again. He starts getting pushy, but only a small part of him worries about Arthur minding. He wants more.

Arthur is exceedingly willing to go along with the grinding, enthusiastic, even. He drags Eames' t-shirt off, fighting with Eames a little to get it done--and when Eames' chest and all his tattoos are revealed, Arthur is fascinated. "I want to trace all these with my tongue," he says without thinking. "I want you to tell me what all of them mean. There's so /many/." He finds the flag Eames got done in India, and leans up to lick it even as he wraps his legs around Eames, to make the grinding easier, quicker, tighter.

Eames' head nearly falls forward and thunks against Arthur's when he's overcome with lust. "I will tell you all that I can about them," he promises breathlessly, chucking his t-shirt away. "And you can do what you like to me with that tongue."

(I will admit I have no full-body reference for Tom Hardy's tattoos, so I'm just going to say that) "I'm focusing on this one," Arthur says, and traces it with his tongue--then he jumps his mouth to the next. "Or maybe this one. I can't decide. There's too much to choose from."

"I couldn't exactly come out and tell you I wanted to lick every inch of inked skin I could see when I was trying to hide how much I wanted you," Arthur points out, and makes a short detour to Eames' nipple, biting it gently.

"Every time you stripped off your horrible loud shirts, I wanted to jump you," Arthur mutters, now rubbing his hands over Eames' skin, massaging. "At first I thought it was to pummel you, you annoyed me so much. It took me waking up from a dream about you with my hand in my pants to realise that I didn't dislike you as much as I thought I did."

"Bloody hell," Eames groans. "Tell me you touched yourself to dreams of me. That is so deliciously hot, I don't think my brain can handle that." He runs his fingers through Arthur's hair then tugs him up to face Eames. "I've only just got some of my marbles back, Arthur. You're threatening my sanity here."

Eames takes that as permission and starts unbuttoning Arthur's waistcoat and shirt. He has to laugh a little. No-one wears waistcoats any more and, honestly, Eames thinks it's something of a shame. He's so happy that Arthur does even if it does add time to how long it takes him to undress.

Eames honestly thinks about it. "I could be talked into it, I think," he says. "I've only ever imagined that kind of thing. Never got the chance. You have to have trust and that's not something that came readily in any of my 'relationships'. Would you take care of me?" Eames wiggles his hips under Arthur's and raises his hands above his head, smirking.

Arthur mouths at the soft skin under Eames' ear. "Um," he says coherently. "It was after the job in Morocco, with the vanilla plantation. Do you remember that?"

(Agreed. I don't know what kind of were, though. Something sleek and powerful. And he and Arthur rub each other all the wrong ways until they're stuck somewhere and Eames is the only one Arthur can feed on...)

Arthur lets go of Eames' wrists, trailing his hands down Eames' arms, tracing his muscles. "That came before the one in New York, which was right before Morocco--I remember the time zones messing me up. That didn't help. Yeah, I guess we did know each other. I don't think Cobb and Mal told anyone else, though."

(Ooh, a tiger. That is /brilliant/. I enjoy the thought. I think we should maybe make a new thread for those guys.)

Eames brings his hands down to hold onto Arthur's waist. He drags his fingers under the fabric of Arthur's trousers to play with the elastic of his underwear. "I never knew. But that was before I tracked your every move through gossip. Or plain, old fashioned spying."

All of the air in Eames' lungs in second flat. "Fuck," he gasps. "You're - fuck." His brain completely shuts down and he just lets his hands roam free to touch Arthur's stomach and dip down to touch his cock, gentle and nervous and trying not to show it.

At the first brush of Eames' fingers, Arthur's cock pops free of his underwear, and Arthur moans quietly--the warm air and Eames' proximity, it's intoxicating. He gets even harder, if he can. "I'm hard," he says breathily. "For you."

Arthur's moan is louder this time. He knew Eames was going to be confident--cocky, if he's allowed to use such a term at a time like this. "If you're not careful then I won't be any fun at all," he warns.

Arthur wraps an arm around Eames' shoulders and pants into his skin, trying not to whimper. He jerked himself off in the bathroom, in India, but not since then, and all the kissing has worked him up something fierce. He drops his own hand down to press at the bulge in Eames' pants, feel out the shape of him.

Eames /does/ whimper, and moans. "Nnngh, Arthur," is all he can manage before his body takes over and he rolls his hips to push into Arthur's hand while he jerks Arthur more, and faster. He hasn't been able to even keep a hard-on for this long. He's obviously healthier now, the horniness is proof enough of that. He's just not too sure about his stamina.

Arthur gets his hand inside Eames' underwear so he can return the favour, hot fingers wrapping around Eames' cock. He presses his mouth to Eames' cheek, then his mouth, diving into a kiss even as he loses the ability to breathe. Eames is jerking him off just the way Arthur likes, as if he knows, as if they've done this before, and it's all Arthur can do to keep up as Eames' /face/ twists into newer and more gut-punching expressions. "You're so gorgeous," he pants.

Eames /has/ done this before, just not in reality. He can only guess at what Arthur likes, but he has studied Arthur's body language - and body - and everything he could to get the closest thing to reality. He laughs, breathy. "You should see my view, love."